


Fetch

by DarkInuFan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Buff Jaskier | Dandelion, Buffskier, Lambert thirsts for the Bard, Lambert’s knife collection, Parkour, Winter At Kaer Morhen, oh Melitele there’s another one, tired papa Vesemir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkInuFan/pseuds/DarkInuFan
Summary: “Lambert lost his favorite dagger.” Geralt pointed vaguely upward. “Fetch.”-or-Lambert discovers he craves that Buffskier.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 324





	Fetch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KHansen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Strong People are Harder to Kill Than Weak People (and More Useful in General)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218820) by [KHansen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/pseuds/KHansen). 



> I hope you don’t mind that I took my little review in chapter 4 and... fleshed it out some. (Blame the others for asking, for I am weak.)

The only thing worse than a confined Witcher, was a confined bard. While wintering at Kaer Morhen, in theory, was a good idea. In practice, not so much. 

“What the hell, Bard?” Lambert burst out,  _ feeling  _ the bench seat shaking the longer Jaskier sat there. “What’s wrong with you?”

Pursing his lips, Jaskier flicked his eyes over to Lambert and away, his knee jangling even harder in response. “Sorry.” By some miracle or design, the spoon in his hand was steady, belaying his need to  _ move.  _ “Just… Geralt, when do you think the storm will clear up?” 

Studying the bard, then closing his eyes to focus on the wind howling outside, Geralt had to bite down a sigh. “Not for a while.” He shouldn’t have let Jaskier come, but he had begged so prettily last fall. That, and his brothers were always asking when he’d bring the bard up to winter with them. They just hadn’t thought this through.

While Geralt and the other wolves were content to hibernate out the winter indoors with all the comforts they never had out on the Path, Jaskier was… n’t. 

It wasn’t as though the bard couldn’t sit still if he tried, but it took a lot of effort, and sometimes (ok, most of the time) the help of some strong calming teas. Which would make him groggy and sleep through the night, with the consequence of being even more hyper-energized the next day. Ultimately, it was simpler to just let him burn it out for a few hours to get back to (his) normal. 

Their solution was usually to set Jaskier on the old training equipment, but with the sudden blizzard that rolled in the previous night, that option was out. Even the hardiest of Witchers had issues in that kind of cold, let alone a human. An obscenely strong human, but ultimately just a normal one. 

“Fuck, Lambert, please, just wrestle with him or something before he starts climbing the walls.” Eskel groaned, sharing a commiserating look with his white-haired brother. Lambert was usually bad enough the deeper into winter they got, but between the two of them- it was going to be a long winter. Geralt, for the few stories he pried out of the White Wolf’s mouth with a generous lubrication of Lambert’s ‘Vodka’, was not prone to exaggeration. If anything, it was usually the opposite. 

“Tch.” Lambert scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He can’t be that bad.” The bard was  _ human _ after all. Slow, stupid, clumsy, idiotic things that they were.

Geralt stared his youngest brother down, leaning across the table to get his point across. “He can. And will. Given the chance.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

Giving into the sigh that had been building, Geralt looked around and mentally mapped out the well-known walls of the great hall, from the long table, to the sconces on the walls and great hearth, to the exposed beams above, giving the illusion that the ceiling was much lower that it actually was. Beams that, while dusty, were polished with age. 

Nodding to himself, Geralt turned to the bard. “Jaskier.”

“Mmm?” Jaskier raised his brow, his mouth currently full of honeyed porridge, the shaking having gotten to the point it was starting to rattle the silverware. “Yes, Geralt?”

“Lambert lost his favorite dagger.” He pointed vaguely upward. “Fetch.” 

Grinning at the permission to  _ move,  _ Jaskier nodded emphatically. “Ok!” From one moment to the next, Jaskier was across the room- having vaulted  _ across  _ the table from a sitting position- and sprinting straight at the corner of the room. His left foot hit a crate, his right the sconce bracket and his left hand scrabbled at the edge of the nearest exposed beam. From there, he, instead of pulling straight up, used his remaining momentum to swing his legs forward and wrapped his body around the log. At that point, it was easy to kip up to a standing position and place his hands on his hips to look around from his new perspective.

“There’s a lot of knives up here…” and some forks, interestingly enough, either lying on the top of the rafters, or stuck to the bottom or sides. He could only assume they were all tossed up by bored wolf pups from the past. “Which one’s Lambert’s again?”

“All of them!” Even without looking, Jaskier could hear the excitement in the youngest wolf’s voice, cutting off whatever the others had to say. “Just toss them all down!” 

“You sure? That’s a lot of knives.” 

“Yeah I’m sure! Unless a weakling like you can’t pull a measly dagger out of a chunk of wood!” In response, a steak knife blossomed out of the table a scant few inches from Lambert’s hand- sunk a good inch into the battle-hardened wood. With a yelp, Lambert nearly swallowed his tongue pulling his hand out of the way.

Quickly, a variety of other sharp implements attached themselves to the empty end of the dining table- all stuck fast and quivering from the force of the throw. After that first knife to prove his point, the bard took care to aim away from the Witchers and their various dishes littering the tabletop. 

“Stop putting holes in my table.” Vesemir sighed into his mug, an air of resignation at yet another unruly pup to deal with. He knew the type, they always wore themselves out eventually. Not like there wasn’t centuries worth of other stab wounds in the wood already. He would just set the boy to give it a good polish to fill in the new knicks later.

Above, Jaskier was having a blast, scrabbling between rafters and jumping the chasm instead of finding the nearest join every time he spotted a glint of metal. Occasionally he would just make a jump just because he could. It was never the fall that would kill him at this height, only the landing if he didn’t do it right. 

Speaking of, after one more look around to make sure he got them all- including the ones stuck to the underside of the ceiling itself- he let himself fall, tucking his chin and landing on the back of his shoulder and rolling upright in a smooth motion. Walking over to the table, he wrenched out a beautifully embossed dagger with golden vines twisting around the bone white handle and held it out to Lambert. “Can I have this one?”

“Uh…” Coming back to himself and snapping his jaw shut, Lambert nodded. “Sure. I mean, yeah, if you really want it. It’s a little too  _ girly  _ for me anyway.” He recovered with a scoff, attempting to pry the dagger by his hand out of the table again with a casualness that Jaskier just had- and failing. 

“Thank you!” Jaskier beamed, tucking away his new dagger and walked over to Lambert, kissing his cheek. He then easily grabbed the dagger and pulled it out of the table and handed it over. “I think this one is more your style anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> When your review is getting reviews itself, _something_ must be done about it...


End file.
